


I'm Castiel

by webcricket



Series: 24 Days of Christmas Advent Drabbles [14]
Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 09:54:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13074420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket
Summary: Prompt Setting - Cozy Coffee Shop. Barista reader and Castiel holiday fluff.





	I'm Castiel

The bell above the door jingles merrily and you cringe. The pleasant metallic clinking causes you to completely lose count of the cash register and you toss a handful of nickels into the penny slot in frustration. It’s Christmas Eve. The coffee shop closed 15 minutes ago and you forgot to lock the door. It’s not the first time this week. You’re mentally exhausted, physically overworked, and simply looking forward to not dealing with the general shopping-crazed and overly demanding public for the next 36 hours. Not to mention escaping the holiday tunes. At least you _were_ looking forward to the idea. You peer beyond the counter to greet the new arrival, a less than cordial scowl twisting your mouth. You want to be a Grinch. _Bah humbug!_ you think. You’re determined despite the fact this after-hours intrusion is your own damn fault – you didn’t even manage to flip the candy-cane bedecked closed sign around.

When you look up and your focus lands on the dark-haired blue-eyed man in the trench coat admiring the whimsical holiday décor as he strides up to the counter, the customer otherwise known to you as the _skinny vanilla almond milk latte and a long black to go, please_ – you feel nothing but relief. He’s been missing for months. Or rather, you correct the thought – you haven’t seen him for months. You see hundreds of people on a daily basis. And of the thousands of customers who walk in the door every week, you missed him specifically. Looked for him. Wondered where he went. Hoped he was okay. Of all the random people in the litany of your mind, the catalog of memorized beverage orders, this man alone stands out because in the chaos of your day each time you saw him he never once failed to acknowledge you as an individual in a job where so few people ask how you’re doing and genuinely seem to care about the answer.

“Hello, Y/N.” Blue gaze glinting, reflective of the festive white string lights hanging over the counter, a small friendly smile plays at the corner of his mouth.

You remain stone still and silent. Your eyes flit to your downturned name tag stuck to the apron thrown over the granite counter. He remembers your name. Of course he remembers your name. How do you not know his? You have a million questions for him. You want to tell him how happy you are to see him again. But you’re strangers, mere passersby in life, and so instead you gulp, awkwardly staring into that shimmering sea of blue.

Shifting weight from foot to foot ever so subtly under your mute regard, he pretends to glance up at the menu, as if he might order something different.

“I’m so sorry, we’re closed,” you stammer before he can speak. You bite the inside of your lip, internally cursing a penchant for stating the obvious when you’re nervous.

“I understand,” he responds calmly, gentle gaze settling on you.

You can see from his expression he does understand. And he isn’t annoyed. Not one bit. There’s nothing save kindness and a certain infinite quality of patience inhabiting his handsome features. “It’s just, the machines are off. And I was closing up for the night. It’s-”

“Christmas Eve,” he interrupts, nodding toward the garland, “I’m sorry to have bothered you so late. The sign-” He gestures in the direction of the door, explaining, “And the door was unlocked. And I saw you standing here. I thought perhaps-” He pauses, scruffy throat bobbing, looking down at the floor. “But you must have family and friends to get home to.”

You’re nodding, not because you have people to get home to – you have Netflix and a cat. A sort of ungrateful little semi-feral minx of a thing who is probably peeing on your floor this very moment to express her impatience in waiting to be fed. She can wait. And your Netflix queue isn’t going anywhere. You’re nodding because he’s kind to believe you do have someone waiting for you. Someone who cares. You lean across the counter, reaching to clutch at his coat sleeve as he turns to leave. “Wait!”

Confusion flashes over his face.

Releasing the tan fabric with a sheepish smile, you murmur, “Skinny vanilla almond milk latte and a long black to go, right?”

“You don’t have to-”

“It’s just me and the cat,” you explain, “and she’s not much of a celebrator. I’m in no hurry.” You have no idea why you’re being so forthcoming. Hell, you’re rarely even this honest with yourself much of the time. You bend to scoop whole coffee beans into the grinder to begin brewing a fresh pot. You don’t dare glance up at him, afraid of a pitying look. “You the latte, or the long black?” you ask, making small talk as you put a new filter in the drip machine.

“Castiel,” he offers in answer. “I’m Castiel.”

Your attention lifts from the watched pot not currently boiling to his soft blue eyes. It’s the most beautiful name you can recall having heard, and it suits him in a way you can’t put into words.

“The coffee is for my friends,” he adds to fill the hush.

“What about you? On the house.” Boldness seizes you, fueled by the strong scent of espresso percolating in the air. “This thing makes a whole pot, no sense throwing it away.”

His chin tilts sideways as he contemplates your offer and studies the smile wavering on your lips. “Just black, thank you.”

“To go?” you ask, the cardboard cup and lid already in your hands in preparation.

“No, not to go,” his gravelly voice drops impossibly lower, and he hesitates, hopeful, tongue darting to wet his dry lips. “I mean, if it’s alright, maybe you would like to have a cup too. Here, with me.”

You gape. Your heart flutters wildly. A wave of heat blooms upon the flesh of your chest and neck and blossoms in a cloud of pink to color your cheeks. You believe you’ve misheard him. He has friends to get back to, surely he isn’t suggesting he might stay here and share a cup of coffee with you. On Christmas Eve, no less.

As if he can read your doubts, he clarifies, really quite sincerely, “If you don’t think your cat will mind my delaying you, of course.”

You can’t help the charmed laughter that bursts forth from your throat.

And gazing back at you – the warmth of your soul glowing against his skin like the blazing sun he awoke to after his release from the Empty – he can’t remember ever having seen anyone or anything more breathtaking in all of creation.


End file.
